


When the Music Hits, You Feel No Pain

by skullopendra



Series: Empathaesia Cognitiva [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Clandestine Trysts, Content Warning: Very Cute, Dissociating with Supernatural Side Effects, Dissociation, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Secret Relationship, mentions of past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullopendra/pseuds/skullopendra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaper didn't know it would be like this. From Widowmaker and Tracer's example, Reaper imagined they would just be blowing off steam in the most inadvisable way possible, risking their missions and their loyalties and reveling, a little, in the danger of that -- and ultimately getting sexual gratification and little else.</p><p>Reaper hadn't counted on Lúcio being so goddamn solicitous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Music Hits, You Feel No Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt on the kink meme! There are mentions of Widowtracer and that ship's constituent characters, but for the most part it's just Reaper and Lúcio.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Get over here," Reaper hisses.

Lúcio glides into the abandoned shell of a building, _humming,_ of all things.  Reaper seizes him by the arms and swings him out of sight, but Lúcio is unperturbed, taking it as an invitation to start circling around the Talon agent in a perverse imitation of a waltz.  Thrown, Reaper allows it for a moment -- before guiding Lúcio's path until he is between Reaper and the innermost wall.

" _Why_ are you still lit up like a glowstick?" Reaper's tone is an attempt at urgency, but he just comes off as exasperated.

Lúcio has that effect on him.

Having leaned in to whisper, Reaper has unwittingly put himself within an inch of Lúcio's face.  Lúcio takes the opportunity to peck the beak of his mask in a kiss, and Reaper recoils.  "Woulda' been weird if I went out for an evening stroll without any of my gear, wouldn't it?"

Reaper reluctantly concedes the point; he still crosses his arms.

Lúcio looks Reaper up and down, eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise.  "You're unarmed."

Reaper tilts his head.  "As far as you know."  Reaper intended for the lack of weaponry to be a gesture of goodwill in their clandestine meetings, but the fact that Lúcio noticed so quickly has him feeling vulnerable.

"Right, right," Lúcio says, holding up his hands in a ' _you don't gotta tell me,'_ gesture.  "Who knows what kinds of terrifying Talon weapons could be lurking under that grim reaper's cloak of yours?"  

Placated, Reaper drops his arms.  Lúcio glides a little closer and places his hands on Reaper's hips, pressing them gently together.  Reaper sighs.

"In fact, I can think of one," Lúcio says meaningfully.

It takes a long moment for Reaper to pick up on the double-entendre.

" _Ugh_ ," Reaper says, pushing Lúcio away and stalking up the stairs.  Lúcio's bright, clear laughter follows him to the second floor.

Lúcio takes the steps clumsily in his rollerblades, cursing and complaining and laughing as he relies on the banister to reach the top of the stairs.

The unexpected fondness in his chest is something Reaper will to take to the grave.

"Why're we up here?  You got a surprise for--oh."

Reaper turns into a cloud of smoke and glides toward the nest-like array of tapestries, blankets, and throw pillows in the corner, and he reforms reclined in the makeshift sleeping area.  The moment Reaper beckons a clawed glove in a _'come hither'_ gesture, Lúcio is scrambling to remove his skates and the bulkier parts of his getup.  He's so preoccupied with dressing down that he doesn't even accuse Reaper of being "tacky" for the gesture, which Reaper considers an accomplishment.  In just under a minute, Lúcio is dressed down to his tank top and sweat pants and pressed against Reaper's side.  Reaper is actually impressed.

"How're you feelin'?"  Lúcio asks.

Earlier in their arrangement, Reaper would have answered with a noncommittal "fine", or on bad days, an impatient "none of your goddamn business".  But they had been doing this for a while.  The first time Reaper had unwittingly answered honestly, Lúcio had taken it in stride and adjusted accordingly.  It had been gratifying to have someone responding to his needs, so Reaper had kept up the relative honesty since then.  "Tired," he says.  He reaches over and unties Lúcio's hair, letting his locs hang loose.  Reaper brushes the hair out of Lúcio's face where it falls, and Lúcio sighs and presses a little closer.

Reaper didn't know it would be like this.  From Widowmaker and Tracer's example, Reaper imagined they would just be blowing off steam in the most inadvisable way possible, risking their missions and their loyalties and reveling, a little, in the danger of that -- and ultimately getting sexual gratification and little else.

Reaper hadn't counted on Lúcio being so goddamn solicitous.

"Want me to give you a blow job?"

Reaper nearly sputters at the abrupt change in gears, but once he recovers he gives the offer genuine consideration.

"Not... just now," he says.

"Then... you wanna listen to some tunes?"

Reaper doesn't say _'please'_ , but he sits a little straighter in the pile of pillows and turns his mask toward Lúcio.

With a grin, Lúcio sits up and rifles through his things, producing a pair of earbuds and -- his weapon.

Reaper tenses.  "Lúcio..."

Lúcio blinks, looks down at the weapon in his hands and appears to understand Reaper's unease.  "Oh, oh shit, sorry -- look, you can hold it, okay?"

Lúcio closes Reaper's hands around the weapon.  Reaper has no idea what to do with it now that he has it -- but the threat of it being used against him is gone, so he manages to relax somewhat.

"This'll make you feel better," Lúcio is saying.  He holds the headphone jack out to Reaper -- instructs him on where to plug it into the device, then offers him one of the earbuds.  Reaper realizes that they're a bit more sophisticated than the kind you'd get at a convenience store.  He carefully plugs it into the ear facing away from Lúcio, beneath the cloth that covers his head.  Lúcio does the same, then scoots up to rest his head on Reaper's shoulder.  "These are normally all gesture-activated, but if you press this, it'll turn on..."

Reaper presses it, and suddenly his heart is beating a mile a minute.

Lúcio lets out a thrilled laugh, and an "oops".  He points to a small indicator with a green and a yellow setting.  "My bad, here -- flip that switch."  

Reaper follows these instructions with much more skepticism than the previous ones, but once he does his heart slows down to normal, and soothing music washes over him.

"How's that?" Lúcio asks.  He gently takes the device and reaches over Reaper's chest to deposit it on the floor within Reaper's reach.  Then he settles back down.  "Good?"

The aches and pains of the day's battle ebb away to be replaced by a glowing euphoria.  Reaper hums, then says only a little grudgingly, "Good."

They lay like that for a while, luxuriating in the healing effects of the music long after either of them need it.  Although for Reaper, whose pains persist before and after battle, the unending healing melody is a balm that almost completely flushes out those pains that otherwise never leave him.

After a while, Lúcio asks if he can take Reaper's boots off.  Reaper doesn't object, so Lúcio tells him to unplug the headphones so they can both listen as he gets to work.

Maybe Reaper should be concerned that this has gone so far that Lúcio knows how to remove Reaper's armor almost as well as his own.  Maybe the _first_ thing that should have concerned him was that he really, truly had come unarmed.  Even Widowmaker, from what she tells Reaper, makes no secret of the fact that she’s armed and ready to pop smoke the moment she suspects Tracer might have been followed.

Widowmaker and Tracer meet up where- and whenever they can, completing their trysts with heat and haste and expending little efforts for comfort.

Reaper goes around looting abandoned commercial districts so that he and Lúcio can cuddle in a pile of pillows for want of a bed.

Of course, it is possible Widowmaker has gone and caught feelings too, and just leaves out the more sentimental aspects of her midnight encounters because she thinks Reaper will give her a hard time for it.  He _does_ act like a hard-ass most of the time.  Even if they confide some things in each other, he can't really blame her for keeping things from him.  And maybe she wants to keep some things private.

Watching Lúcio move closer and seize his gloved hand with a questioning look on his face, Reaper can fully understand wanting to keep some moments just for himself.

Reaper nods at the unvoiced question, grateful for the mask that conceals the uncertainty his face betrays.  Lúcio removes the glove, taking care to avoid the claws and spikes and laying the garment aside.

Lúcio guides the exposed hand to his face and kisses the pulse at its wrist.

Reaper shudders.

There's scarcely a surface of skin on his hands that isn't calloused to the point of feeling like sandpaper, but Lúcio presses his cheek into the cup of Reaper's palm anyway.  Reaper exhales, shaky.

"You're so warm," Reaper says foolishly.

Lúcio laughs, not unkindly.  "Only 'cause I'm with you."

Exasperated, Reaper pulls his hand out of Lúcio's grasp and pushes his face away gently.  "Finally some recognition," he grumbles, and Lúcio laughs and lays across Reaper's chest.  His big, beautiful brown eyes stare into Reaper's mask.  "... And what're you lookin' at?"

"You tell me," Lúcio says, teasing, words meaningless except to extend the conversational banter.

Reaper snorts, and then a thought hits him.  A foolish, short-sighted, inadvisable thought.  He knows Lúcio doesn't ever refer to him as 'Reaper', and it doesn't really bother him, but.

But.

"Gabriel," Reaper says, body tense despite the healing music doing its best to smooth away the rigidity of his muscles.

There's a disorienting beat wherein Lúcio's expression doesn't change, but he blinks and sits up, staring at Reaper with something like wonder.

"Y-You -- Uh..."  Lúcio blinks multiple times in quick succession, mouth working on the words.  "You're not making like, a pun on biblical names or somethin', are you?"

Reaper looks away.

"Oh!  Um, I'm," Lúcio sits up, and Reaper ignores the way the absence of Lúcio's body heat feels like loss.

That's it, Reaper thinks.  He's showed his hand ( _ha_ ), and now Lúcio realizes Reaper is making this out to be something it isn't, and he'll leave and neither of them will tell anyone but they'll never speak again, either.

"Can I," Lúcio is saying, and there's an unfamiliar quality to his voice that urges Reaper to look at him.  His eyes are shining, and that's not just some schmaltzy observation about the moonlight reflecting in the pools of his eyes -- he's literally on the verge of tears.  "C-Can I call you Gabe?"

Reaper jolts upright.  "Are you seriously crying right now?!"

"No, you’re crying!" Lúcio’s voice cracks when he says it, shoving Reaper’s shoulders.  Reaper lets himself fall in astonishment, and Lúcio wraps his arms around Reaper's waist and buries his face in Reaper's chest.

Reaper lies there, listening to Lúcio's music and Lúcio's breathing, and wonders how it came to this.

"It's just really sweet, yo," Lúcio sniffles into Reaper's chest.  "That you'd tell me your name, I mean.  Th-That's like -- it means a lot to me."

The fact that Reaper has managed to move Lúcio to tears just by telling him his name -- that Lúcio cares enough to _want_ to know his name, to have even the slightest idea of how much it must mean to _him_ to go and tell Lúcio -- that means a lot to Reaper, too.

Reaper sits up, slowly this time.  Lúcio remains stubbornly latched to Reaper's torso like he's afraid he'll vanish from his encircled arms (and it wouldn't be the first time).  Reaper just sighs and takes off his other glove and his cloak, doing away with the cumbersome shoulder pads and the rest and settling back down.

“Hey,” Reaper says.  Lúcio looks up.  Reaper rubs away the streaks on Lúcio’s face with his thumbs.  “C’mere.”  

Lúcio grins and climbs up Reaper’s chest.  He presses a kiss to Reaper’s mask again.  It's something Lúcio has been doing since the first, and Reaper had thought it was a strange (and later, endearing) way of showing that he didn’t mind that Reaper always kept his face covered.  He’s felt Lúcio’s lips on him before, but now Reaper imagines, heart pounding, what they might feel like on _his_.

“Close your eyes,” Reaper says.

Lúcio obliges immediately.  Reaper marvels at the readiness with which Lúcio offers his trust, and takes the opportunity to swipe away a few more tears.  Lúcio grins and tries to smooch his hand when he pulls it away.  Reaper takes off his mask and sets it aside, leaving only the balaclava beneath.

Reaper lifts the fabric up to stretch across the bridge of his nose.  He takes a deep breath, concentrates on grounding himself in the physical -- exhales shakily with the effort.  With the way Lúcio’s own breath hitches, Reaper guesses that Lúcio has figured out what he’s doing.

Lúcio licks his lips.

Gabriel kisses him.

He wasn’t quite prepared for the enthusiasm with which Lúcio responds, and is thrown back into the pillows as Lúcio throws himself into the kiss.  It’s clumsy and is mostly only a testament to possibility, but it’s their first and it’s exquisite for it.  It’s certainly Gabriel’s first kiss in a long time.

“Gabriel,” Lúcio says when they separate for air, voice filled to bursting with tenderness.  His eyes are dutifully closed.

“Gabe is fine,” he answers.

“Gabe,” Lúcio gasps, burying his face in the other man’s shoulder.

Reaper hasn’t been ‘Gabriel’ in a while, he thinks.  He didn’t want to be.  Gabriel and his justifications about killing for a “greater good”, and his city image that didn’t suit the new Overwatch that had to be relegated to the shadows of Blackwatch -- Gabriel was no better than the murderous, soulless husk he had become.  There was no point being anything but his alias.

But Lúcio makes him want to try being Gabriel.

Gabriel takes the balaclava off and tosses it into the center of the room.  “You can look now,” he says.  For some reason he expected the removal of the mask to revert his voice back to normal, even though that had never been the case before.  It’s still gravel and shadows -- but Lúcio has never complained, and he doesn’t seem like he’s about to start.

When Lúcio _does_ look, looks at Gabriel like he’s the best thing that ever happened to him, like he could look at him forever -- Gabriel wonders why the mask was even important.

“Gabe,” Lúcio says again, “can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Gabriel breathes, and Lúcio lowers himself onto Gabriel’s lips.   _His lips are soft,_ Gabriel thinks in absurd wonderment, _like flower petals._ Gabriel’s bare hands travel along Lúcio’s sides in encouragement, eliciting the most delightful sounds.

Lúcio breaks the kiss with a laugh.  “Pfft -- Gabe, that tickles!”

Gabriel is trying to muster up some irritation at the fact that Lúcio has just spit on his face with the force of his laughter, but he really can’t.  He rubs it away with one palm.  “Oh?”

Lúcio bites his lip, but it doesn’t hide the grin threatening to spread across his face.  “Don’t be a dick,” Lúcio says.

Gabriel seizes Lúcio’s hips and flips them over, away from the device pumping soothing sounds and feelings into the airwaves.  “I thought you liked my dick,” Gabriel says, and he places his hands back on the sensitive spots from before -- just below his ribs -- that had caused Lúcio to break their kiss.

“Pffthahahaha!  Oh my god, h-haha!  You’re the worst!”  Lúcio squirms beneath him, and Gabriel leans in to mouth at the curve of his throat.  It’s made difficult with Lúcio’s shoulders jerking the way they are.  “Gabe!  Hahaha, s-stop!”

Gabriel does stop, leaning back to take stock of Lúcio.  Lúcio blinks up at him in bewilderment, then realization and, disconcertingly, softness.  “You okay?” Gabriel asks.  At Lúcio’s lifting eyebrows, Gabriel realizes that in all their encounters it’s been Lúcio checking in on Gabriel, not the other way around.  Lúcio has also demonstrated that he knows his limits, is comfortable telling Gabriel in no uncertain terms “no”, so Gabriel doesn’t feel… _as_ bad as if he had been taking advantage of Lúcio, rather than just being inconsiderate.

“Better than ever, babe.  G-Gabe,” Lúcio corrects, and his mouth presses into a grim line at the slip.  “Uh, you?”

Gabriel leans down and pecks a kiss at the corner of Lúcio’s mouth, making his face turn even redder.  “I’m fine, _mi cariño._ ”  Gabriel can’t remember the last time he spoke Spanish, but it comes to him easily, now.  It feels like coming home.

“O-Oh,” Lúcio says, voice cracking.  Impossibly, his face gets even redder.  “Eh… _É você meu carinho_?”

Portuguese, Gabriel thinks.  That’s new.  “ _Espero serlo,_ ” Gabriel purrs.  He leans down and plants his lips firmly on Lúcio’s, determined to make this kiss last longer than the first.

Lúcio is of a similar mind, it seems -- he wraps his arms around Gabriel’s waist and tries his damnedest to pull their bodies flush together, responding to each movement of Gabriel’s lips against his with an enthusiastic answer.

Lúcio sucks on Gabriel’s bottom lip, and ultimately is the first one to introduce his teeth.  Gabriel hisses with pleasure, pressing his hips down to grind against Lúcio’s.  Gabriel brings his tongue into the situation, intent on coaxing out Lúcio’s -- but Lúcio sucks Gabriel’s tongue into his mouth where it’s rendered immobile by the strength of the suction, and that -- it makes Gabriel’s knees weak, makes his cock throb against the prohibitive tightness of all his protective clothing.

Lúcio lets out a little “oof” when Gabriel’s unable to support his weight any longer and collapses on top of him.  Gabriel barely gets out a “sorry,” before Lúcio’s hand is on the small of his back.

“You’re not that heavy,” Lúcio says breathlessly.  His lips are swollen.  It’s a good look for him, Gabriel thinks.  “I like your stubble.  It’s not as scratchy as you’d think, to look at it.”

Gabriel’s lip quirks, opens his mouth to answer -- when he feels Lúcio’s knuckles stroking his jaw, as if in demonstration.  Gabriel’s eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed.

When was the last time someone had touched his face?

Lúcio’s hand begins to pull away.  “Sorry, is this…?”

“Fine,” Gabriel says quickly.  “It’s… good.”  He reaches out for Lúcio’s hand and presses it to his cheek, as Lúcio had done earlier.  Kisses Lúcio’s palm.

Lúcio’s breath hitches, and Gabriel feels a telltale twitch between his legs.

Gabriel sucks Lúcio’s thumb into his mouth, and Lúcio moans aloud.

“Oh _shit,_ Gabe, that’s good,” Lúcio sighs.  Lúcio rocks his hips upward, and it’s all the encouragement Gabriel needs to get started on his belt.  It’s more difficult than it needs to be with one hand, but he’s hardly going to release Lúcio’s hand when he has it right where he wants it.

Gabriel tosses the belt aside and opens his pants with a sigh that makes Lúcio shiver -- his thumb is wet with saliva, now, so when Gabriel breathed it must have felt cold.  Gabriel sucks on Lúcio’s thumb and presses his tongue against it, grinds their hips together, reveling in the enhanced sensation of one layer of clothing removed.

Lúcio hisses, squirming beneath him.  “ _Okay!_  Off, off,” he’s saying, and Gabriel retreats with a bewildered look on his face, Lúcio’s thumb leaving his mouth with a ‘pop’.  Lúcio meets his eyes and lets out a helpless, breathy laugh.  “Not you, you big baby -- your _pants_.”

 _Right,_ he thinks, feeling foolish again, but then Lúcio kisses his cheek and he only feels warm.  Gabriel undresses until he’s only wearing his spandex.

“Damn, Gabe, your thighs are _bangin’,_ ” Lúcio says.  He pounces on Gabriel as if to demonstrate the man’s irresistibility, and straddling his hips, Lúcio shucks his tank top off.  “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yes,” Gabriel says.  Lúcio pouts.  “But by all means, continue.”

“Oh! Your,” Lúcio pauses to bite his lip, eyes roving over Gabriel and taking him in.  Gabriel can feel his eyes like a physical sensation.  “Your arms are straight _killer_ , and your pecs are _sweet_ , and look, your hair's a mess, but I bet you’d look fine as hell with some waves or something...”

The praise courses through Gabriel’s veins like the music playing in the background.  Gabriel returns the favor by placing his hands on Lúcio’s hips, thumbs stroking into the dips of his pelvic bone.

Lúcio shivers.  “Your palms are rough.  I like that,” he clarifies when it seems Gabriel might retract them.  “And you’re real gentle with them.  I like that, too.”

Gabriel doesn’t understand how Lúcio can call him gentle, when the first time they met Reaper had filled Lúcio’s stomach with shotgun slugs and left him to bleed out in a filthy alley in Del Rio.  That was before Reaper had understood how Lúcio’s healing music had worked, and by that time Lúcio had learned not to wander when Reaper was around.

(“Haven’t I killed you somewhere before?”  Reaper had asked, genuinely bewildered to see the young man alive, if only because he had confirmed Mercy hadn’t been on that mission.  He supposed now he knew why they hadn’t needed her.

“Didn’t take,” Lúcio said with a grin, and proceeded to be a thorn in Reaper’s side every day thereafter.)

“Gabe,” Lúcio is saying.  Gabriel feels like he should feel Lúcio, but quickly realizes that that’s impossible, since he’s become incorporeal, a black fog floating around Lúcio’s thighs.  “Stay with me.”

Gabriel coalesces into corporeality with effort (he doesn’t want it to go wrong, so he’s in front of Lúcio, not below him), and Lúcio looks about to embrace him, but he falters.

“Were you going to leave?” Lúcio asks.  “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I was just…” _dissociating,_ he doesn’t say.  “I just got… lost in thought.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Lúcio’s brow furrows in concern.  “You can’t control it?” he asks.

“I can,” Gabriel says, “it’s just... harder, if I’m not paying attention.”

Lúcio grins.  “Oh, okay,” he says.  “I got you on that achieving inner peace shit, huh?”

“What?” Gabriel says.

“Dick so bomb you turned into a cloud?”

“Stop,” Gabriel says, shoving Lúcio’s face as he makes obnoxious kissing noises.

“Let me kiss you,” Lúcio says, voice muffled by Gabriel’s hand on his face.

Gabriel sighs, unable to deny the appeal of the suggestion, and he releases Lúcio.  Lúcio apparently wasn’t expecting this, because his forward momentum sends them crashing to the ground.

“Some kiss,” Gabriel huffs at the weight on his chest.

“Wait ‘til you see this next one,” Lúcio says, and kisses him.

Gabriel decides this kiss is a marked improvement on the previous one, and he places one hand on Lúcio’s neck and the other on his jaw to manipulate the angle of it into something divine.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel says when they break apart for air.  The thought won’t let him go.

“What?  Why?” Lúcio pants.

“For hurting you.”

“Uh, I’m fine?  Wait, you’re not apologizing in _advance_ , are you, because --”

“For nearly killing you?” Gabriel clarifies, finding it difficult to believe that Lúcio could forget.

Lúcio shifts above Gabriel, looking into his eyes for a moment.  The urge to look away is strong, but you meet someone’s eyes when you own up to something, right?

Lúcio grins and kisses Gabriel’s nose.  “That’s okay.”

“It’s _okay,_ ” Gabriel says slowly.

“Yeah, no sweat, man.  You didn’t know.”

Gabriel wracks his brain for what Lúcio could possibly be getting at and comes up blank.  “What didn’t I know?”

Lúcio grins.  “That this dick too bomb --”

“Right,” Gabriel says, rolling Lúcio off of him with a well-placed hand.  Gabriel picks him up and stands in one fluid motion.

“What, come on, Gabe, I was just trying to lighten the mood!  I’m s--”

“ _Clearly,_ ” Gabriel says, dropping Lúcio on the spread of pillows, “You aren’t going to stop being a nuisance until I see what is so _bomb_ about your dick.”

“ _Oh my god you said it--”_

“So let’s see, shall we?”

Lúcio quiets as Gabriel kneels between his splayed legs.  Gabriel places his right hand on Lúcio’s ankle, sliding up underneath his sweatpants as he crawls up his legs.  His left hand ventures up to stroke from Lúcio’s hip to his nipple.  Lúcio’s stomach muscles flutter as Gabriel’s hand passes over it.

Gabriel’s left hand remains where it is, taking small passes over Lúcio’s nipple for the pleasure of hearing his voice.  His questing right hand leaves Lúcio’s leg and goes for his waistline instead.

Gabriel sucks on the smooth flesh of Lúcio’s abdomen.

“Oh, shit,” Lúcio breathes.  “Gabe, don’t stop.”

Gabriel hums into Lúcio’s skin, eliciting more little jerks and twitches.  He plants his mouth on the line of flesh that meets the waistband of Lúcio’s pants, and the groan Lúcio releases goes straight to Gabriel’s dick.

Gabriel pulls Lúcio’s sweatpants down to his knees and pulls his dick out of his boxer shorts.

Lúcio hisses at the sudden exposure.  His fingers twist in the blankets and sheets.  “Gabe, it’s _cold,_ ” he complains.

Gabriel laughs, and his breath ghosts hot and heavy over Lúcio’s dick.  It twitches, and Gabriel revels in the contortions of Lúcio’s face as he lets out a mighty “ _Mmph!”_ of restraint.

The sounds Lúcio makes when Gabriel licks a stripe up to the head are downright pornographic.  It’s like one of Lúcio’s synesthetic performances, creating a complex cocktail of emotions from the sound alone -- except this one goes straight to Gabriel’s dick.

When Gabriel exhales shaky over Lúcio, this time Lúcio whimpers and his knees come up.

“Sorry,” Gabriel murmurs, closing his hands over Lúcio’s dick to guard it from the cold night air.  “Accident.”

“Mm,” Lúcio says, relaxing his legs and thrusting up into Gabriel’s grip.  “I think I’ll make it,” he says.

Ilios _is_ right by the ocean.  Gabriel has a harder time gauging temperatures these days, but he imagines the proximity of the water only makes the night air cooler.  This time careful to keep his hands on the parts of Lúcio’s dick that his mouth isn’t, Gabriel wraps his lips around the glans and sucks softly.

“Oh _fuck,_ ” Lúcio whimpers.

“I’ll consider it,” Gabriel says, and replaces his mouth on Lúcio’s dick, this time taking it farther.

“You’re so gorgeous, Gabe,” Lúcio breathes.  “Your mouth is so warm. A-And your tongue is so -- _mmf --_ so s-soft.  Holy shit, I’m gonna die, _Gabe_.”

 _Death becomes you,_ Gabriel almost says, but he doesn’t, because he dragged Lúcio over here in the first place for making embarrassing jokes and it would be bad sportsmanship to start in on that again.  Instead he sinks down on Lúcio’s dick, making a game out of the way the volume of Lúcio’s voice and the unintelligibility of his words rises the deeper Gabriel takes him into his mouth.  Eventually the Portuguese is back again, tangled up in the English, and Gabriel considers that a win.

“Sweet jesus,” Lúcio whimpers.

 _Gabe is fine,_ Gabriel doesn’t say, and starts to wonder if he has a problem.

Gabriel releases Lúcio’s dick with an obscene ‘pop’, maintains the rhythm with his hand as he crawls up to straddle Lúcio’s hips.

“H-Hey,” Lúcio says in greeting.

“Hey,” Gabriel responds, trying not to laugh.

“You uh,” Lúcio manages between little gasps and gulps of air, “you come here often?”

Gabriel snorts, leans down to nibble Lúcio's earlobe.  “I’d like to,” he says.

Lúcio makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat and brings his hands up to splay across Gabriel’s back.  They’re both sticky with sweat-salt and panting into each other.

In coming closer together, Lúcio’s dick bumps up against Gabriel’s abdomen.  Gabriel removes his hand and leans closer, allowing Lúcio to set the rhythm and rut into his stomach.

“Oh my god, your abs are like fucking _rocks_ , Gabe.  Mmf, _fuck.”_

Gabriel presses closer, recognizes the pitch of Lúcio’s gasps that means he’s close.  “You’re beautiful,” Gabriel murmurs.

Lúcio makes a sound like a sob, arches his back as his hips stutter.

Gabriel leans down opportunistically to suck on Lúcio’s throat, and then Lúcio is holding onto Gabriel for dear life as he spills between them.

They remain that way for a long moment, panting and gasping as they catch their breath.  The core-deep heat that had filled Lúcio to the brim with urgency seems to deplete as the flush to his face and neck fades and his body rapidly cools.  The tension in Lúcio’s body gradually loosens, unwinds.  Gabriel strokes his hair and kisses his brow, and beneath him Lúcio unravels.

Lúcio blinks up at Gabriel like the world is new.

Gabriel doesn’t know what to do with that kind of vulnerability.

Lúcio tugs him down, but Gabriel resists.  “Hold on.”  He casts his eyes about for a blanket, and when he finds one he grabs it and wipes them both off.  He tosses it outside the nest of blankets when he’s done.

Lúcio just looks at him even more sweetly at that, and Gabriel allows himself to be pulled into an embrace among the pillows and blankets.

“It’s funny how I asked _you_ if you wanted a blow job, but then you gave me one,” Lúcio says.

“I still don’t want one,” Gabriel clarifies.  Lúcio hums, not in disappointment, and curls closer to Gabriel.  “Just watching you was enough to make me tired.”

Lúcio lets out a surprised laugh.  “Old man,” he says fondly, and buries his face in Gabriel’s shoulder.

"You don't even know how old I am," Gabriel laughs.

"Probably a hundred," Lúcio murmurs into his neck.

"Probably." Gabriel places his palm against Lúcio's back.

They’ve been in this position before, but never without the mask and balaclava to muffle Gabriel’s senses.  He’s struck by the clarity of the moment, the smell of Lúcio’s sweat and deodorant, even the smell of coconut oil in his hair, given how close they are.

Gabriel grabs a blanket and tugs it out of place, sending pillows tumbling away.

His mask is among them.

“Stop, you’re ruining our beautiful home,” Lúcio says dramatically.

Gabriel laughs and drapes the blanket over them.  “We’ll fix it later,” he says, words meaningless except to extend their banter.

Lúcio sighs grandly and lays his arm across Gabriel’s chest, scritching his chest hair.  “Whatever you say, Gabe-babe.”

They both have to return to their respective bases before sun-up, so neither of them has any illusions about waking up together at dawn.  But it’s nice to enjoy the moment for what it is.

Reaper reports back to Talon with the same reconnaissance he’s been bringing them for the past two weeks, and he lets himself breathe when his handlers accept this and instruct him to inform them, instead, if there are developments, and to not bother if there’s no noteworthy activity.

Why don’t he and Widowmaker stake the place out for a few days at a time, they suggest.

Gabriel knows these fortuitous circumstances can’t last, but he’s still a little giddy to tell Lúcio.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is now part of a series! Thanks for supporting me with your kind words and endorsement of one of my fave rare pairs. c':
> 
> This fic has FANART if you can believe it! I'm so honored. Please contact me on tumblr (@orbofdiscourse) or Skype (coffeedeity) if you have art that you want to share with me!! I'll be honored to feature it here. ;v; 
> 
> [a cute naked lover's embrace by Nandeeff](http://nandeeff.tumblr.com/post/146567116345/025-reaper-and-lucio-because-of-this-amazing) (NSFW)


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